Armada

Robert believed that command of the Retribution would have afforded him, for the first time in his life, a real chance to make a name for himself beyond his already established reputation as a skilled sailor in Hawkins’s merchant fleet. Two years previously, his low social rank had excluded him from Drake’s raid on the Spanish Main in the Caribbean, a lengthy campaign where higher-born men like the previous captain, Morgan, had made their names.

On reaching the poop deck, frustration consumed him. If only he could be given more time to prove his worth to his superiors. Despite his converse religious beliefs he truly felt he was the best man to permanently command the Retribution. As Hawkins turned to face him, Robert steeled himself to argue his case. It was surely a lost cause, he knew that, but Robert couldn’t allow his best chance to restore his family name and honour to slip through his grasp without a fight.

‘Mister Varian,’ Hawkins began, but then paused. He turned and walked to the gunwale. ‘What to do with you?’ he said, looking out over the harbour.

‘I don’t understand, sir,’ Robert replied taken aback, his opening argument dying on his lips.

‘Your command, lad, your captaincy of the Retribution.’ Hawkins turned once more and walked back to Robert. ‘I know your mettle, Varian, I would not have made you captain of one of my merchantmen, or indeed master of the Retribution, if I had not. But then you do a damn fool thing and charge down that Spanish counterattack on the Halcon.’

‘Sir?’

‘You brought yourself to the attention of my kinsman, Drake. Then he went and did another damn fool thing and promoted you captain of my ship.’

‘But sir, I …’

Hawkins suddenly smiled and slapped Robert on the shoulder. ‘And now I’m going to do a damn fool thing and confirm that command.’

Robert could not take in the words.

‘I saw strength in you from the beginning and by God you proved me right at Cadiz. Now that Drake has seen it too, the Retribution is yours to command.’

‘But how can I, sir?’ Robert said, speaking aloud the thoughts that had most haunted him. He did not pause to gather himself, to think that he was arguing against that which he longed for most. ‘Surely the captaincy must be awarded to someone of a higher social rank?’

Hawkins smiled ruefully. ‘Don’t think I’m not aware of that problem, Varian. In fact I still had my doubts when I came on board. But then I saw something that settled the matter. The men look to you, Varian. They respect you. That counts for a great deal in a captain.’

Robert stayed silent this time, not daring to speak again. As the news began to sink in, he smiled slightly. Hawkins noticed the change and frowned.

‘Be mindful, Varian,’ he warned. ‘I freely confirm Drake’s decision. Although this ship is mine, the Retribution remains in the service of the Queen. I will need to convince the Privy Council of the wisdom of my choice. I have Drake’s endorsement, which carries a lot of weight. He too comes from humble origins and commands the entire fleet. You have proved yourself worthy in mine and Drake’s eyes, but now you must put our decision beyond all reproach.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Robert replied solemnly. Did this mean his command remained as precarious as it was before?

Hawkins nodded, satisfied. As he departed the Retribution, Robert remained at the gunwale and watched the longboat pull away until it was lost from sight behind another galleon. The captaincy was his, bestowed by Drake and confirmed by Hawkins – but it was still there for the taking by another, until he could fully justify the faith of his commanders.

The crew was his first priority. The Retribution was in need of a master’s mate, and Robert immediately thought of Tobias Miller of the Spirit. He trusted Miller completely and would need him in the months ahead.

In building the Retribution, the shipwrights of England had created a warship that finely balanced a fearsome arsenal of cannon with the sailing abilities of a predator. Robert would need to master that balance if he was to retain his command. The Retribution was his, and he silently vowed to do whatever it would take to keep her.

Nichols cursed loudly as he fell heavily for the third time on the wet grass. He looked down at his mud covered breeches and for a brief second wondered how he would explain his appearance should he encounter anyone. He clambered to his feet and continued to run up the hill. The copse was dead ahead, only fifty yards away. He prayed he was not too late, knowing the value of the information he held.

Nichols crashed through the rain soaked undergrowth and stopped suddenly. He cocked his head to listen but his own laboured breathing and the sound of his heart filled his ears. He held his breath to still them but the effort caused him to cough violently.

‘Over here,’ he heard a voice hiss and he pushed towards it. He saw Cross a moment later standing by his horse, seemingly poised to mount. He was looking beyond Nichols into the trees behind him.

‘What news?’ he asked. ‘Has the priest come?’

‘Two days ago,’ Nichols replied.

‘And?’

‘The traitor’s name is Robert Young.’

Cross slammed a fist into his open palm in triumph. ‘Tell me everything.’

Nichols began to speak, recalling the meeting between the duke and Father Blackthorne with his usual attention to detail.

‘The son of Nathaniel Young,’ Cross breathed, putting his hand up to silence the butler. Nathaniel Young was near the top of almost every list Cross had ever seen of prominent traitors who were believed to be active on the continent. But he had never heard of his son, or even knew one existed.

‘You’re sure that is what the priest said?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ Nichols replied tetchily, eager to continue his story. His next words caused Cross to interrupt again. ‘Sacred Heart of Jesus. Nathaniel Young is Clarsdale’s contact in Spain?’

Nichols made to reply but Cross indicated for him to continue. Cross barely registered the final part. All he could think of was the contact that had been exposed. Tasked with a mission as important as discovering the movements and strategy of the English navy, Nathaniel Young was surely near the centre of power in Spain. Maybe he even had the ear of Philip himself.

‘The priest did not say what position this Robert Young holds in the navy?’

‘No. And he does not go by that name. Father Blackthorne said he adopted the name of the family who took him in after his father fled into exile.’

‘And the priest did not mention their name?’

‘No,’ Nichols replied irritably. ‘If they had I would already have told you.’

Cross made to reprimand Nichols for his insubordinate tone but he thought better of it. The butler had proved valuable beyond all expectations, and he needed to keep him firmly on side.

Cross turned and walked over to his horse, stroking her mane absentmindedly as he tried to think of the best way forward. Walsingham would have to be informed. That was paramount, but Cross knew his first question would be the one now foremost in his own mind. What was Robert Young’s real name? And what was his position in the navy? This Robert Young might not even be in the navy. He could be an official in Plymouth, one who might be privy to the strategic and tactical plans of the fleet. There was one man who knew who Young really was – the priest – but how to get the information from him? He alone was the contact between Robert Young and Clarsdale. Until the two men met, the priest would have to remain untouched. Cross turned back to Nichols.

‘You have done well. Now go back to the house. The priest is sure to return soon with Robert Young, and when he does you must try your utmost to discover his name, or at least set eyes on him somehow. I am leaving now but I’ll return here in a week. I will be in this copse every second day at noon should you need to find me.’

Nichols nodded and left without another word.

Cross watched him go and waited for the woods to become quiet again before mounting up. Threading his horse through the undergrowth, he stopped on the far side of the copse, his eyes ranging over the mist covered fields beyond. He had set Nichols a task, and prayed for his success, but in the meantime he would try to supplant him. He must travel to Plymouth and try to uncover this traitor’s real identity himself.